


Ornithurae

by coughsyrup



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Background Than/Zag, Charon is autistic, Escort Hermes, Hermes is trans, M/M, Rated M for later Chapters, Sex worker Hermes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29354595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coughsyrup/pseuds/coughsyrup
Summary: To appease his family - and maybe himself - Charon looks for a mutually beneficial arrangement with a professional to substitute for a more conventional relationship.
Relationships: Charon/Hermes (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 78





	1. Passer Domesticus

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to OhNoHello for such a wonderful take on escort!Hermes, inspiring me to give it a go myself.
> 
> Please be mindful that there is a trigger warning in this chapter in particular for anti-autistic bullying.

The black marble flooring of Charon's oversized house does nothing to keep the heat in. It wouldn't be accurate to say that he doesn't feel the cold; more that he's used to it by now. There's hardly any body fat on his gaunt frame, only lean muscle and jagged bones. Nothing to conserve the heat as he travels slowly across the vast halls of his dwelling. His castle. The walls echo every little sound, emphasising the sheer emptiness and solitude of his fortress. His sanctum.

Until last week, Charon would have argued that he had carved for himself the perfect life within these walls. The solitude suits him well and he has no real need for anything but solitude. Solitude and wealth enough for his little home comforts, sparse as they may be.

He reads dusty, brown spined books with the heavy vanilla scent of age in the long, silent nights in his solitude. He makes the same five meals on careful rotation, free from thick sauces or overly seasoned, complex flavours and the obligation of mindless, two-way chit-chat. If he craves the warmth of company then he has the schedule of radio talk shows memorised, or podcasts with gentle tongued hosts walking him through well researched facts and stories. And, most importantly, he doesn't have to say a blessed word to a single soul for hours and hours and hours on end.

It wouldn't be accurate to say that Charon despises company. He doesn't, although it may surprise his mother to know that. He likes company - certain company. His brothers fill a sort of void that the solitude sometimes leaves in his soul. Hypnos can be particularly agreeable on his occasional trips down to the higher end of the Styx district where Charon's house - mansion, admittedly - juts out of the landscape of real grass lawns and garden gnomes. Charon's youngest brother will often spend comfortable, warm stretches together with him, listening only to the sounds of the radio soft in the background. He'll fall asleep on the couch, limbs encumbered with sedatives both legal and less than, and Charon will tuck him in under the blanket he likes to bring with him. When they talk, Hypnos's ability to understand Charon's signing is clumsy and limited, but they've always been able to get by well enough between the two of them through emphatic grunting and optimistic guess work.

Thanatos usually respects Charon's boundaries, but the expectation for conversation is a little heavier. Charon wonders if the older one of the twins feels like he's… helping. Allowing Charon to practice at human interaction, when he normally so willfully slinks away from other living bodies. It fills Charon with mixed feelings. On a charitable day, he might even be grateful for his brother's clear sympathy and patience - and the practice besides. On more frequent days, the pity slices anew at old, bone-deep wounds and he finds himself engineering the premature endings of Thanatos's visits.

It's the pity that gets to him. He sees it in Thanatos. He sees it in his mother. He sees it in their sisters - some of them, at least. He's thankful never to see it in Hypnos's thick pupils and lazy smile, but the numbers are still stacked against him. And once a month, he fulfills his promise. His oath he'd sworn to his mother soon after his father had vanished all those years ago. Once a month. He'd not even been an adult when he'd promised it, but his pride stops him from trying to renegotiate the terms - that, and an affection for his mother, pride or not.

The monthly family night is…

Well, at least it's only once a month.

Charon enters his old family home with a customary stoop to pass through a familiarly low doorway, and he's suitably prepared and braced to hug his mother. He's used to this, and he can find his routines and scripts to make it all a little easier. He compliments an item of clothing and when she thanks him, it sounds sincere enough that he doesn't second guess it. She thanks him for coming, too, and Charon believes that to be sincere as well. He waits with her for Thanatos - prompt as ever, whereupon he can hand his mother off to the middle brother so that more in depth, less awkward conversation can be had. He announces his turning the kettle on, which is always left as a job for him to do so that he has an out early on in the evening. It's comforting, not just for the routine itself but the reassurance that he takes in it every month. It's a purposeful, quiet inaction from his mother to give him some peace every month. A reminder that she cares, and a reminder of why he continues to come.

He takes care to make everyone's tea and coffee just how they like it, remembering each order without fail. Nyx and Thanatos are of course served first, then he sets about making three teas of exacting, different strengths for his sisters who show up as the tea is poured, almost to the dot. Nemesis, Eris and Keres - though he'd privately had more colourful names for them as a child. Especially Eris, who even now in their adulthood takes every possible opening to sneer and jab at every insecurity she can find within them all. She still takes the tea anyway, and Charon considers not for the first time how easy it would have been to poison it.

The kettle is boiled for the second time when Nemesis's infant twins start to wail, Eris makes some comment alluding to the poor quality of her parenting, and Keres turns to Charon in some misguided attempt to share in the misery of perpetual singledom. She asks him again if he really hasn't met anyone yet, reminds him of how he's getting on in age now and if he really has never, ever found love - 'not even a passing fling?'

The kettle is boiled, and Hypnos takes the steaming, marshmallow decorated hot chocolate as he seems to float on carelessly into the house. The interrogations turn to Hypnos for a blessed few minutes while Charon stays, washing clean mugs and slowly breathing until he has to go back in. 

Zagreus is, comparatively speaking, still a relatively new part of the routine. He's a welcome enough sight when he turns up, but he's unpredictable - Charon doesn't yet know when he'll turn up, and he's always changing his drink order. Sometimes he declines it altogether, and Charon's left standing there, trying not to get stressed because the pattern, the routine, isn't being followed. Even the girls seem to like him - he has a charming way about him and he often brings souvenirs from his various travels, one for each of them. He arrives and Thanatos does this strange little smile that Charon's not used to, and everyone welcomes him and… And then eventually the talk turns back to Charon.

When is it his turn, if Thanatos is engaged already, over ten years his junior? When is he going to bring a partner or spouse to family game night? Nemesis had brought her husband before that had all gone sour, and Eris brings strings of boys that never seem to last long - and Charon feels sorry for every single one of them. He often feels like telling them to get out of the nightmare of their relationships - of this family - before it's too late.

"It's better for the rest of the world if old Charon doesn't try to get a girlfriend," Eris laughs. Charon counts the intersections of the squares decorating the tablecloth. "He's a grown man and he's scared of gravy."

Charon signs, and Thanatos dutifully interprets, that he's not scared. Just doesn't enjoy the taste.

"You're a grown man, and you can't even talk to your family," Eris hisses back. Charon counts thirty eight intersections before something unsettles in his stomach. 

This is talking, he signs. He's met with a roll of her eyes. This is talking, but you're not worth talking to.

Thanatos decides not to sign the latter half, and Eris decides to spike his meal with the unconsumed dregs of her gravy. Charon stands, and inside the kitchen again, the meal is scraped into a tupperware for whomever to take home with them. He can hear the shriek of what he understands to be Nemesis taking a small revenge for him by sprinkling hot sauce over Eris's own mash potatoes. He thinks he can hear his mother sighing in defeat. He resolves to apologise to her later.

Later comes sooner than he thinks when Nyx helps him clean, and he allows her another hug when he thinks it might soothe her own stress from the dysfunction of her brood. It must be difficult, he reasons internally. It must be difficult, with children like them. And one of them is already-

"Thirty eight, dear. I just… I did think you'd have found someone by now. You're not unattractive - although I do wish you'd stop smoking."

Charon nods, and counts the beads on the curtain string. He gets to thirty eight before he nods again, hoping to reassure her. It must be difficult, he reasons internally. She must feel like a failure.

They both do.

"Aren't you lonely, sweetheart? There are… apps, you know. Thanatos could help. He's very clever with the internet," she insists, and Charon wishes she would ask before she puts her hand on his shoulder. He takes a slow breath and tries not to focus on it.

He nods. He nods, and she seems to understand.

Zagreus and Thanatos had seemed happy. It's… a shame that Charon won't get to that level of intimacy with another person. It's disappointing.

It's not that he hates company, and with a sinking feeling, he realises that his mother definitely understands that much. It's not that he hates company. It's that it's just all so… difficult. He's difficult.

“I understand it with Hypnos, even with the girls, but… You’re so clever. You’re stable and you’ve got your life so well put together. I always just… expected you’d have someone to share it with,” Nyx persists, and Charon nods again. 

He doesn’t want to disappoint her, although he knows that without solving this issue, there’s no way around that. But there’s no way to solve the issue without… finding someone. A partner, at least in pretense. And there’s no way to do _that_ without fundamentally changing several aspects about himself, which Charon simply isn’t willing to stoop to.

He nods, and Nyx leaves him to boil the kettle again.

He's going to have to think outside the box on this one.


	2. Sarcoramphus Papa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermes shows up. Sort of.

Charon thinks about it for a long while. Meditates, really. He sucks in the nicotine from a chain of cigarettes, watching over the world from his balcony, and he meditates on his predicament. There are so many thousands of people in this city alone - you would think that at least one of them would be compatible with him, if only for a few months. Enough to give his mother some hope - and give himself some practice, maybe, at… dating.

The word sounds childish and he grunts displeasure around the filter of a fresh cigarette.

He has… some things to offer. Not nothing, anyway. He has respect to give. And money. Money, he has in spades. If he could just pay someone to date him, to feign interest long enough and convincingly enough to soothe his mother, he would be set. He has enough money - it could last for years, with the right person.

There must be ways of doing it, Charon reasons to himself. There are plenty of lonely old fools in the world (he realises he has to place himself in that category for now), and dozens of younger men and women looking for the security and status of a wealthy older man. Hell, Charon doesn't need someone too young. On the contrary, the idea of 'dating' some fresh faced, twenty-something graduate… He gives another grunt around the filter before he stubs out the latest cigarette.

He reaches for the packet again but stops himself, getting his phone out of his pocket instead.

This could work.

\---

After some extensive research, Charon decides to make some ground rules for himself. He needs someone close enough to his own age - certainly not early twenties. That'd just make his family suspicious as to the origins of their relationship. Someone pleasing enough on the eye, but not consumed with obsessions of material looks and superficiality. That'd stir up concerns of gold digging. Someone who can talk without needing to be responded to - not clingy like some of the boys he's seen his sisters bring home.

Ideally someone… charismatic, he thinks to himself. Someone enough like Zagreus that they might charm Charon's family. Find a place there without too much difficulty and settle comfortably. It could be a long term proposal. They'd only need to see each other once a month, after all.

Someone with a strong stomach. Someone who doesn't recoil at the heavy, ever-present fog of cigarette smoke that follows Charon even without anything lit in his hands. Someone who can link arm in arm with him and look suitably fawning - not overly so, but enough to seem realistic. Like a real relationship. A good actor. Someone to pretend he finds Charon attractive enough to come home with him afterwards. The thought twists at his stomach, and he puts that image out of his mind to replace it with more pressing criteria. He's imagining a man, but he supposes it's not important. He can't afford to be picky, and something as arbitrary as the gender of a partner has never really mattered to him. Then again, it's never come up to any substantial degree in his life thus far.

But if he can find someone who meets his criteria… Not only will his mother be less worried for his future, but it also gives Charon great pleasure to imagine Eris's angry pout when she sees him with some handsome or beautiful creature on his arm. It's a petty feeling of vengeance, but nonetheless a thrill he finds himself chasing, a thrill that goads him into further research.

The website that Charon finds is more simply laid out than he's expecting, which is a relief. There's some coded language, but by that point he's researched enough over his evening that he navigates it with little difficulty. He sets up a profile and feels his pale skin whiten further at the idea of a profile picture. He finds a temporary substitute - a sample picture plucked from his phone's sparse photo gallery from when he'd been deciding on his kitchen countertops. It's a simple pattern example of black marble with gold vein threaded through, and Charon makes a mental reminder to take a photo of himself to replace it with when he has the stomach for it.

He sets to work, trawling through profiles.

He sets to work, and feels his hopes slowly sink and sink until they dissipate into the depths.

He has no idea how he thought this would work.

The photos are of beautiful women, almost invariably fresh out of college, with pictures of tanned skin in bikinis. Sun kissed, long, well groomed hairstyles and white, enticing smiles. Charismatic, certainly, but not a believable choice for him.

He sets the filter to a higher age range.

They're a different breed, it seems, the moment that his prospects hit thirty and above. Or perhaps the moment that they admit it to the website. A surprising bulk of them are photographed in latex with riding crops resting in taloned fingers. Bright red lipstick and stern expressions, glasses perched on the bridge of their noses so as to look down at him better. Charon supposes it must be attractive to many clients, but he can't confess to be within their ranks. He doesn't crave any punishment further to what he already inflicts upon himself. And okay, perhaps the intimacy isn't necessary and he can make do without getting flogged for imaginary crimes. Perhaps these women and the handful of men are perfectly charismatic and cordial in polite situations. But the adverts barely mention it, or only put it forth in passing. It surely can't be their specialty. Not charismatic enough, he decides, and he loses a little more hope.

He finds those with less extreme interests, more vanilla profiles. Men and women with more homely appearances, and it admittedly does intrigue him more. Believable - tick. And some seem quite witty in their profiles, too. Charismatic - tick. There are those with cable-knit sweaters, promising for a 'realistic girlfriend experience', which seems to fulfill his needs, doesn't it? He needs a partner realistic enough to convince his mother and siblings. He hovers over buttons to message them, but instead lets their profiles sit to the side in spare tabs on his browser. He'll just check out a few more, Charon tells himself. He's not… scared.

He's not scared of gravy, and he's not scared of messaging women on dating websites. He's not. It's just…

Charon sighs and lights up another cigarette, distracting himself by scanning and deleting the messages from a few spam profiles who have sent him less than tantalising requests and demands.

There's just something missing, he decides, clearing the filters again and mindlessly scrolling through the sea of prospects. A real connection, no doubt, but something more than that. He's not particularly interested in any of them, not really. They almost all promise discussions of intimacy, which sounds, well, conflicting. He'd like to experience that one day, he's always known that. But to share in vulnerability with a stranger like that… Charon's not sure he could manage it. He'll chicken out at the last minute, he's sure of it. No, he'll want to get to know his proposed paramour, to meet with them and find some sort of a spark, a connection between them. Some shared interest that lets them really communicate.

_Languages: … ASL …_

He stops and scrolls back up to where he'd skim read past, searching for what had stood out to him in a sea of words and photos that his brain had no longer been parsing.

_Languages: English, Greek, ASL, Russian, French and Spanish._

He stops, takes a drag of smoke, and looks back up to the photo.

The man stands out in such a way that Charon's not sure how he'd missed him before. He's brunette with Mediterraneann features, and his profile picture has a bright, intelligent smile. The baseball cap and colourful jersey - as well as his profile stating an age of twenty eight, a full ten years younger than him - immediately mark him as a candidate that should be disregarded.

He has photos of himself in what looks like a college varsity jacket - from details that Charon takes in on his profile, it seems that he was part of his school's track team. A star athlete, if the lean muscle in his photos is indicative of anything. There's a photo of him in shorts and rollerskates, one leg tucked beneath him as he shows off in candid shots to some unknown photographer. There's one taken where his reflection is muted behind him in a coffee shop window. One of him crossing the finish line of a local marathon, sweaty and exuberant - not flattering in a conventional way, perhaps, but one that gives Charon pause. He stares at the photo for longer than he means to. There's the hint of a tattoo at his more visible ankle, but he can't quite work out what it depicts. It looks like some sort of bird, maybe.

The man has clear hobbies and his profile is written in clear, eloquent language, bubbling with personality. Charismatic - tick. He's younger than Charon had looked for, perhaps, but not so young that his family might be concerned. It's believable - just. 

Fulfilling a criteria that Charon hadn't realised he'd been judging by, the man is attractive. Tick. Definitely, definitely tick. And then there's the criteria that - now that he knows it's possible - Charon decides might be most important of all: he can communicate with this guy. Actually, properly communicate with him, without needing to resort to the uncomfortable, scratching, sensory nightmare that is verbal speech.

In the biggest surprise of the night, Charon realises that this man really is a viable candidate, more than any of the others. He hovers over the message button and feels his stomach twist again. His palms feel clammy by the time that he finally clicks it, telling himself that he can just exit the window if he needs to, that he can back out at any time.

_Conversation started with Mercurys_Wings._

It's a strange username, but doesn't look like the computer generated formula that had created his own when, stumped for an idea for an online handle, Charon had just clicked 'suggest for me' and allowed himself to be named accordingly.

He types and he deletes and he types. He goes out to the balcony and has another cigarette. He starts up dinner for the night, sits back at his desk and tries again. He types and he deletes and he finally comes up with a draft. He leaves it to marinate as he eats to the sound of Thursday's radio talk show, obsessing over every word and punctuation mark.

_Boatman81 sent at 22:19: Hello. My name is Charon Black. I am thirty eight, 6'2, smoker. I am looking to compensate you for your time on a monthly basis. Flexible with fee._

The moment he presses send - hours after the final draft is completed, after dinner's been eaten and his Thursday radio show is over - he groans quietly with regret, closes the lid of his laptop, and heads out to his balcony again for the last cigarette of the evening. There is no way this is going to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I promise that in chapter three, Hermes shows up (for real this time).


	3. Orthorhyncus cristatus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not speak ASL.
> 
> I considered splitting this into more than one chapter, but I couldn't live with the guilt of forcing y'all to have to wait three whole chapters before your ship actually physically meets in person. I'm not that cruel (I think).
> 
> Still got a few chapters before the smut, though.
> 
> Enjoy!

Charon had checked his phone before he went to sleep and had been both disappointed and relieved when he’d seen no response in his inbox. He wakes early as normal the next day, ready to face the day and start work by eight AM - which is when he remembers to check the blasted site again.

There's not going to be a response, he tells himself. Mercurys_Wings probably isn't even active on the site anymore. Or he's booked up, no time to take on new clients. Or he hadn't liked the look of Charon-... Damn, he hadn't swapped the profile picture over, had he? Well, he'll get to that on his lunch break, he reluctantly tells himself, if there's no response by then. If it turns out to be more of a necessity than he'd anticipated.

He's more or less soothed his own dashed hopes of seeing a response by the time he remembers his username and password and actually manages to log into the website.

_Six new messages._

His hand is honestly shaking as he clicks on the little envelope. Four new conversations, and Charon forces himself to click through them each in turn before he allows himself to click on the new additions to his conversation with Mercurys_Wings. Masochism he'd previously thought himself as not possessing must be his driving force as he checks each of the four. All spam, and he finds himself grateful for it. He doesn't have to give any other candidate their due consideration out of some sense of fairness, some sort of good sportsmanship. No, he can just delete them, take a slow breath and click on that last set of unread messages.

_Two unread messages from Mercurys_Wings._

_Mercurys_Wings sent at 6:15: Hey boss! Thanks for your message! I'd love to get to know you - you got anything in particular in mind?_

_Mercurys_Wings sent at 6:16: I'm just off for a run atm. Let me know when you're free later and we can chat? Xoxo!_

Charon closes the lid of the laptop, takes a slow, steady breath, closes his eyes and counts to ten. Then he heads to the balcony to light a cigarette.

Let me know when you're free later. Does that mean now? No, surely it means when he's done with work. When he's finished with work for the day, he'll message Mercurys_Wings back and they'll… chat.

What does 'chat' mean in this context? Is he going to be expected to call him? On the phone? God, hopefully not. No, the man had said he spoke ASL. He must have at least some sensitivity to the restrictions of those less conventionally verbal. Perhaps they'll continue to instant message. Yes, that sounds better. And Charon will explain the monthly family night, that he needs someone to act as his boyfriend, and the other man will pretend not to find him repulsive and pathetic for resorting to this - he's a professional, after all - and he'll name his price and Charon will accept it and tip accordingly and…

It'll be fine, he tries to tell himself.

He turns his laptop back on, stares at the message again - and when he notices a little green 'online' orb next to the man's username, he clicks out of the website so fast that he fears breaking something.

\---

Work passes without incident, and it passes as slowly as it possibly can. He opens the website again as soon as the clock ticks past 4pm and he can reasonably say that he's done for the day. He's self employed, but that doesn't mean he can allow himself to slack off. Charon logs in, rereads those two messages, then leaves the page open while he fixes himself dinner. He considers his reply all throughout it, realising afterwards that he'll have to replay that last podcast episode another time since he hasn’t listened to a word of it throughout dinner. Finally, he sits at his desk again. The orb next to his correspondant's name is grey - a welcome relief as Charon types.

_Boatman81 sent at 19:12: Hello. Your profile says that you speak ASL. I do not want to video call. I require up to five hours of your company during a family dinner. I would introduce you as my partner. How much would you charge?_

Charon leans back and exhales heavily, already reaching for a cigarette to calm the nerves that had spiked the moment he pressed send. He sees the little circle next to the other man's username turn green, and he instantly fumbles and drops his cigarette. By the time he's picked it up from under his desk, there's a new reply beneath his own.

_Mercurys_Wings sent at 19:13: Yep, can do! Sounds great! :) Usually $90 an hour but I can do the five for a discount at $400. When's the date?_

Charon puts the cigarette back down and realises that he needs to reply. That this man is actively waiting for his reply right now.

_Boatman81 sent at 19:17: The price is fine. Do you prefer cash? We meet on the first Friday of the month. What may I call you?_

He can see the little dots implying that Hermes must be typing right now. His stomach swoops in nerves.

_Mercurys_Wings sent at 19:18: I'll put it in my diary, boss! Cash in hand please! Xoxo_

_Mercurys_Wings sent at 19:18: Name's Hermes. Can't wait to meet you. Xxx_

_Mercurys_Wings sent at 19:19: I'd like to meet a little in advance to get to know you and make sure we're compatible first. Buy me coffee? First hour's free. ;)_

Charon lets out a choked noise of surprise and fear and stares back at the words. Buy me coffee. Like a… Like a little coffee shop date. This is too much. Too real. He should really apologise and back out, or just ghost him, or… something. Instead he types back, even though his hands are shaking.

Within the next ten minutes, he's got a date - of sorts - for the coming weekend. He makes a mental note to go to the bank before the allotted time to get out a large sum to compensate Hermes for his time, even if the first hour really is free. They might go over that hour - Charon can't really estimate how long a social gathering like that might go on for - and he wants to be prepared. They've got a time and location set; Hermes says he knows the couple who own Elysium Coffee and that he wouldn't mind popping in to say hi. Charon has no preference either way and certainly isn't about to override whatever Hermes wants.

Hermes. It's strange to have a name to put to that face now, rather than a username. When the green light falls grey again, Charon lets himself click back to the other man's profile - holding his breath to keep silent, as if some security measure might alert Hermes to his actions. He clicks through the photos again and keeps his off hand on a cigarette, just to keep himself in check. That tattoo on his ankle - Charon had thought it was a bird. He thinks now that it might simply be a wing. He wonders what the symbolism means to him. There are so many questions he has, Charon realises. More interest than he's ever taken in another person before.

The thought still unsettles him even by the time he turns in for the night. His off hand does not remain in check. Soon enough, he's found the website again on his phone this time, scrolling through those same pictures, guilt and pleasure building to a simultaneous peak. He regrets it the moment that he has to move to clean himself up, but he knows it's probably not the last time it'll happen before Saturday.

\---

Charon gets to the coffee shop twenty minutes early and takes a seat at a booth with a simple black coffee in his hands. He can't chainsmoke while he waits - he thinks that the huge, burly man with a nose ring who comes out of the kitchen to replace the cake selection would kill him if he tried to light up. The barista himself is obnoxious and far too loud, but at least he takes Charon's pre-written down order without any more fuss than seems to be his standard. Charon busies himself by watching the other customers to distract himself from looking out for Hermes. It almost works, but the moment that he sees a flash of an orange cap coming through the door, he turns immediately to look.

It's him. Mercurys_Wings. Hermes. The man that Charon is here to meet, to discuss the details of an escorting arrangement. It seems completely unreal, like some haze of a dream that threatens to slip away before Hermes ever makes it over to his booth. But no, he sees Charon's hesitant raised hand and just beams with this wide, bright grin that has Charon's heart racing almost painfully.

He grins, and he just walks on over - like it's the easiest thing in the world.

"Charon?" the vision clarifies, and Charon nods. Hermes asks the next question with his hands - how do you prefer to sign that?

His movements are elegant and flawless, his fingers slender but not as creepily long as Charon knows his own are. His lips move in tandem, silent but expressive, and Charon sees a flash of a pink tongue that has heat pooling in his cheeks and low down in his stomach. His smile is expectant, curious - a little worried. And then Charon realises that’s because he has yet to reply.

He moves with a start, his throat trying to stammer out a vocal apology out of an instinct he'd thought long gone. It doesn't come out anyway, and his hands are shaking as he shows the sign he uses, the one that incorporates the sign for gold. He watches Hermes repeat it with that shining grin again, and his heart goes weak.

I can hear well, he explains as Hermes nods in understanding. I don't talk, he explains. I don't talk, but I can listen. When we are with my family, I would like you to talk for me. Talk as much as you like.

It broadens Hermes's grin in a way that Charon doesn't understand yet, but there's a little chuckle that's so infectious that even Charon lets out a little cough-wheeze of humour in turn.

"Alright, boss. Whatever you like," his companion insists. "Let me go get a coffee and we can go over the-..."

He stops as Charon places a ten dollar bill in his hand, nodding over to the counter by way of explanation. Hermes seems to hesitate for a moment, but finally gives in and accepts it.

He thanks Charon by leaning across the booth and kissing him, gentle and sweet all too fleeting, on the hollow of his gaunt cheek. Charon realises at that point that he is well and truly fucked.

When Hermes comes back, it's with a large iced mocha topped with whipped cream and chocolate sauce. He insists on handing Charon the change and pouts with such pretty pretend annoyance that Charon has no choice but to accept it back.

"So - you want a monthly thing then? I don't really do long term commitment, you know. I'm more of a one or two time guy. Just makes things less…" He wiggles his hand in a gesture that is totally lost on Charon. "Less y'know. You know?"

Charon does not know. He nods his head anyway, and Hermes seems pleased.

"So are we trying to impress your folks - or piss 'em off? 'Cause I can, like, argue with a racist uncle or loudly announce my support for corporal punishment in schools, if that's what you need," he laughs - so loud and bright that it sounds a bit like a bell ringing out. Charon thinks that Hermes would make a very good podcast host. He could listen to him for hours.

He shakes his head, and Hermes hums in understanding.

"Impress 'em then. Got it. I can be the perfect boyfriend material," he winks to Charon, who feels his already pink cheeks get pinker.

"Am I coming home with you again afterwards?" Hermes asks, his lips tugging up into a sort of wicked smirk. Charon feels lost, and his head slowly tilts to the side. His companion laughs again, softer this time but just as bright.

"Do you want me to come home with you after our date, big guy? Are you wanting the whole boyfriend experience? I mean, the more intimate parts?" he asks, slow and soft and almost like a purr. It takes Charon two full seconds to react - one to understand, and then one to *understand*.

His hands come up but hesitate to make any words, stammering in time with his sudden heartbeat. His cheeks are bright red and his mouth ajar, his eyes wide. A deer in headlights - but he at least has the presence of mind to appreciate how the expression makes Hermes laugh again, grinning wide around the straw to his mocha. He likes making Hermes laugh. He wants to make Hermes laugh again. In the comfort of his own home, his sanctuary. In his bedroom, with sheets below them and his hands exploring Hermes's body. God, yes, he wants that very, very much.

Slowly, almost with shame, he nods his head once in affirmation.

"Awesome. I'm looking forward to it," Hermes says in that little purr-like tone, leaning forward in the booth. And then he draws back, slightly more serious now as he seems to remember what sounds like an almost rehearsed disclaimer. "No group stuff. We use protection, or there's no funny business at all. And any money that changes hands is just the purchase of my divine company and time - not a guarantee of anything more adult and fun. That's all at my discretion on a personal decision only. Alright?"

He finishes up with a bright, peppy smile and Charon nods again, feeling slightly dazed.

"Good. So when's the date again? A few weeks’ time, right?" The question is punctuated by a little slurp through the straw of his mocha - and the strangest thing is that Charon doesn't even find that the sound makes him want to strangle Hermes. He really must be something special.

Charon signs the date after a second to collect his composure, and Hermes types it into his phone, little wing charms dangling off of its case.

He's going to have a real - sort of - boyfriend to introduce to his family. Someone to come home with afterwards and experience… *that*. It seems too good to be true. He's still reeling from it all by the time he realises that he's raised his hands to sign.

One month.

Hermes looks up in clear confusion, blinking over at him and waiting for more.

One month. You don't do long term, but give it one month, and then we re-evaluate. Please.

By some miracle, Charon keeps his hands steady as he asks it, even though his heart is pounding in his chest. He watches a journey of various expressions taking place over Hermes's face, and understands a good half of them in time before the next one takes its place.

"One month," Hermes repeats, but Charon isn't sure if it's an agreement or a question, so he just signs it back. One month.

He's an idiot, but the terms have already been proposed. He's given himself no room for negotiation - and one month is only one date anyway. One family night. It's pointless, but it's already on the table. A bare minimum to plead for.

"One month," Hermes says again, and he sits back in his chair and grins in a way that makes Charon more sure this time that it's in agreement. He slurps at his mocha, and this time Charon concedes that it is a _little_ annoying. But somehow, he thinks he can deal with it.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise Hermes shows up in chapter two.


End file.
